Vilnius
by JustMakeLeftTurns
Summary: Zusane, the personification of Vilnius, is tired of the fighting between Feliks and Toris, so she runs away to Moscow, with unintended consequences. Mostly OC-centric. Some OCxOC. Past LietPol.


**A/N: I was doing some research for my geography project and suddenly came up with this idea. It's pretty OC-centric, but canon characters do play a part.**

**Warning: attempted suicide**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I only own my characters Zusane (Vilnius) and Viktor (Moscow).**

Zusane sat at the top of the staircase, leaning against the wall. Her green eyes stared blankly at the wall across from her. She wore a black beanie over her chin-length brown hair, a long-sleeved black-and-white striped shirt, and black skinny jeans. A lot of black to express her mood.

Downstairs, her fathers' harsh bickering had turned into outright yelling. They were fighting, once again, over her. She sometimes wondered if they even remembered that she, the person, existed. They argued over her a lot. Sometimes there would be a meeting that she'd be allowed to go to, and they would argue there. Sometimes, when she visited Poland, Lithuania would stop by and start arguing. And, the most often, Poland would come to her and Lithuania's house and start the argument again.

It had gotten really old really fast.

"You're poisoning her against me! That's totally not cool!" she heard Feliks. She'd lived with him for centuries and felt an emotional bond with him that she didn't with Toris nearly as much.

"You mean like you did when you stole her during the inter-war period?" Of course, she was still close to her other father as well, especially since she was currently his capital.

She wondered if the other capitals ever had to deal with this.

"Wilno is rightfully mine!" Zusane flinched at the use of her city's name. Not at the fact that it was the Polish version of it, but at the fact that her father hadn't even bothered to use her human name.

"I took back _Vilnius_ years ago." Ouch. Strike two with the use of her city's name. Was she really only a city to them? Not even a daughter anymore? She closed her eyes, forcing back tears. Her chest felt heavy and empty.

"More like Russia handed it to you on a silver platter!" Zusane choked back a sob. It. She'd been called an it. Something that had happened much more frequently lately. She wondered if capitals could fade because of that, being called an object by the nations' personifications.

"I'm not giving her back to you. I already allow her to visit her. Don't make me take that away."

She stood and headed into her room. As soon as the door had closed, she let the tears fall. First they argued over her, and now Toris wanted to stop her from seeing Feliks? They were both her fathers. They couldn't stop that from being true. Toris couldn't stop her from seeing Feliks like Feliks couldn't stop her from seeing Toris.

She collapsed onto her bed and grabbed her cell phone from the bedside table. She accessed tumblr and wrote (in English so her followers would understand), _Someone get me out of this hellhole. Parents arguing over me? No thanks._

It was after Viktor sent her a text message that she remembered that he followed her blog. Great. _They're at it again?_ was written in Russian, which, she was partly ashamed to admit, she was fluent in.

She hesitated before answering, _Yes. They're driving me insane._

_You can always live with me._

And by that, he meant him and Russia. The capitals all had the physical appearances that were younger than the countries, so most of them were young teens. There was no way that Viktor would be allowed to live on his own. Well, not as far as Zusane was aware of.

She wanted to quickly reply that she would deal with the arguing, but something stopped her. Why couldn't she go live with Viktor and Russia, at least for a little while? Viktor was actually really sweet, one of her closest friends. Russia, on the other hand, was insane. She rarely had to cross paths with him, thankfully, but she'd seen and felt what had happened to her fathers and to her people within her city.

Capitals rarely lived with a nation who wasn't _their_ nation. During the Soviet Union, even though Toris had to live with Russia, Zusane was allowed stay in – or, rather, confined to – her city borders. She was glad she never had to experience Russia-the-man first-hand very often like her father, but she still had to deal with the Soviets.

But because she'd never experienced Russia for a long period of time first-hand, she didn't have the same aversion to him as Toris did. Perhaps living with Viktor would be okay. He wouldn't let Russia hurt her, would he?

Without a second thought, she texted Viktor, _Be there as soon as I can. Anything to get away._

Zusane packed a small bag, grabbed what money she had, put on a thick coat, and snuck out of the house without either of her fathers noticing. A part of her was disappointed they didn't notice, but at the same time, she was excited. It was rare that a capital had the chance to venture outside of his or her city. She was going to make the most of it.

One flight later, she had arrived in Moscow. She spotted Viktor waiting for her – she'd texted him the flight times and airport location. She smiled for the first time in a long time. It had been a while since she'd seen her friend.

"Viktor!" she exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly. She blushed at the looks the bystanders gave her. She soon forgot them when Viktor pulled her in for a hug. She took a minute to breathe in his scent. Oh, how she'd missed him.

"Privet, Syuzanna," Viktor mumbled into her hair. He pulled away.

The two of them talked for hours, from the bus ride to Viktor's and Russia's house, to eating dinner, to just hanging out. For the first time since before the World Wars, Zusane felt happy. She fell asleep in Viktor's room while he slept on the floor.

The next morning, however, she was greeted by a long list of text messages and frantic voicemails by her fathers, reminding her of the reason she'd run away in the first place. The messages ranged from worried to angry to pleading. She found herself wondering if her fathers actually cared about her, or if they only cared about what happened to her city.

"Don't worry about them," Viktor said. "Think of this as a vacation."

"Da, a vacation." Zusane flinched from the sudden voice of Russia. "A nice, cold vacation in Mother Russia. You will enjoy your time here, da?"

Zusane put on a brave face, although she found herself hovering slightly behind Viktor. "Of course, Mister Russia."

Russia grinned wider. Zusane bit her lip nervously. "I remember when Litva called me that. He used to live with me, you know."

"Yes, sir, I remember."

"Papa, stop scaring her," Viktor rolled his eyes. Russia narrowed his eyes but left, smile still on his face.

"How do you do that?" Zusane asked breathlessly. "How do you talk back to _Russia_?"

Viktor shrugged. "He's my dad."

"I could never do that to my fathers."

"Maybe you should." Zusane was startled when Viktor's eyes met hers, a serious expression on his face. "They're fighting over you and not including you. They're not talking to you about matters that concern you. Next time, speak up. Make your voice heard. You matter, too."

Before she knew what was happening, Viktor's lips were pressed against hers. It was only for a moment, but it made both of them blush anyway. Neither of them could stop smiling. They didn't say anything about it, but for the next week, they could often be seen holding hands and sitting a little too close to each other.

At the end of that week, Zusane finally decided to call her fathers to let them know she was okay. She held her cell phone in a shaking hand, staring at the number on the screen. She was scared of what they would say. She felt every bit the fourteen-year-old girl she appeared to be.

"Stop it," she muttered to herself. "I am hundreds and hundreds of years old. I can do this."

She pressed the call button and waited for Toris to pick up.

"Zusane? Where are you? Please tell me that you are alright!"

Zusane felt her resolve weaken. She felt horrible for worrying her father. She took a breath, trying to fight back the tears. She looked over at Viktor, who squeezed her free hand in encouragement.

"I'm okay," she said weakly. She cleared her throat. She was not going to cry. She was the one who had run away after all. "I just needed to be alone."

"Zusane –" She heard some arguing and the phone on the other end being struggled over before finally, "Zuzanna! Like, where are you? Why did you run off? Totally not cool, by the way."

"I'm safe. I'm okay. I just …" she trailed off.

"Zuzanna? Zuza, sweetie, like, you can tell me anything. You know that."

She didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. She broke into sobs. "I can't. Tatuś, I can't. I don't want anyone to get mad."

"Just tell us where you are," she heard Toris again.

"Sorry, tėtis. I just need to be alone." A pause, then, "I love you."

Her fathers tried to get her to stay on the line, but Zusane had had enough. She hung up and sobbed into Viktor's chest.

"I feel like a horrible person," she admitted. "I want to go back, but not to the fighting. I miss them, but I hate the fighting."

"Then stay," Viktor said. "With me."

Zusane pulled back, a frown on her face. "But … Isn't that just like handing me over to Russia? I don't want to be a Russian city."

"But you've been speaking Russian during your stay, have you not, Syuzanna?" Viktor grinned slightly, brushing away her tears with his fingers. "I will protect you from my father, if that is what you're worried about."

"I'll stay for now," Zusane said sternly. "But permanently …"

"Think about it."

Zusane nodded hesitantly. "Okay."

Zusane stayed another three months. Russia continued to intimidate her, even threatening her once in a while, but Viktor kept up on his promise to protect her. No harm was done to her. During those months, she deleted all texts and voicemails without looking at or listening to them. She got over her homesickness and started to enjoy spending time with Viktor. She just wanted to be happy, at least for a little while.

But all good things have to come to an end. Zusane was curled up next to Viktor on the couch, reading, when the door burst open.

"I totally called it!"

Zusane looked up in surprise at Feliks' voice. Her heart thudded. How had he found her?

"Liet, she's in here!" Feliks shouted.

"Zusane?" Toris entered the room, a worried, borderline panicked, expression on his face. Seeing no apparent injuries, the worry faded slightly. "Thank God you are okay."

"I told you I was fine three months ago, and I meant it," Zusane said. Viktor petted her hair soothingly.

"Three months ago, Russia and his freaky kid weren't trying to take you from us!" Feliks retorted. He placed his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes at Viktor. "Speaking of which, get your hands off my daughter."

Viktor made to move away, but Zusane kept him still. "He's my boyfriend. He can do what he wants."

Both Toris and Feliks looked horrified. Feliks shot another glare at Viktor, who speedily moved away from Zusane, much to Zusane's displeasure. Toris knelt in front of her, looking up into her eyes.

"Sweetheart, are you hurt anywhere?"

Zusane knew he meant well, but she still found herself crossing her arms and glaring at him. "I was fine until you two barged in."

"This is totally bad!" Feliks exclaimed. "Russia and freak-child have totally brainwashed our poor Zuza!"

Zusane frowned in confusion. "What?"

"She doesn't even _know_!" Feliks continue to speak loudly.

"Be quiet, Feliks," Toris ordered. To Zusane, he spoke softly, "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," Zusane rolled her eyes.

"You're living in Russia's house," Toris said seriously. "You are not fine."

"I chose to come here," Zusane told them. She noticed how Viktor wisely slipped out of the room. "I just needed to get away."

"But why to Russia?" Toris asked, putting his hands on her shoulders. "And why are you still here? Your city has had a lot of Russian immigrants, did you know? You're becoming more Russian than Lithuanian."

"Or Polish," Feliks added, ignoring the glare Toris threw his way.

Zusane shifted her shoulders. Toris took the hint and dropped his hands. "So what if I've been getting more Russian immigrants? It's probably a result of me dating Viktor."

"It's so much more than that, Zusane," Toris said, looking heartbroken. "It starts off like this, but Russia wants to get his hands on you. And by doing that, he gets his hands on me."

Zusane scoffed. "So you're worried more about your skin than mine."

"That is not what he meant and you know it," Feliks said sternly. "We've all been through this before. Like, there's more than one way to be seized by another country."

"Russia's not seizing me!" Zusane yelled. "So stop saying that he is!" She wiped at her eyes. "Why can't I just be happy?"

Her fathers were silent. After a moment, Feliks tackled her in a hug. "Please come home, Zuza! I miss you!"

"Zusane," Toris said quietly, catching his daughter's eyes once again. "Come home."

Zusane nodded, starting to cry in earnest.

The next month seemed to be okay. Zusane had had to break up with Viktor, but they still kept in touch. Feliks came over more often, but not to pick fights with Toris. It almost felt like they were a family again.

But, as always, good things have to come to an end.

Her fathers started arguing over her again, but this time, she wouldn't take it. She couldn't. A week after the fighting had started up again, she snapped.

"Stop it!" she yelled. "Stop fighting already!"

"Stay out of it, Zusane," Toris said.

"No. This concerns me. And I want the fighting to stop!"

It didn't.

So Zusane did the only thing she could think – or, rather, didn't think – of. The fighting was in the kitchen, so she grabbed the largest knife and held it to her throat. That definitely caught the attention of her fathers.

"Zusane."

"Zuza…"

"I'm sick and tired of the fighting," Zusane sobbed hysterically, keeping the knife up. "I'm a person, not an object. I have feelings, too." Her fathers didn't say anything. "I wonder what would happen to my city if I died. Probably nothing. I'm just a capital. But at least I wouldn't have to listen to all this fighting."

"Zusane, put down the knife," Toris said, voice shaking but keeping his head clear. Meanwhile, Feliks stood frozen, eyes wide with terror. "Let us talk about this."

"I'm tired of being fought over. I'm tired of being an object." Zusane's hands shook.

"What makes you think you're an object?" Toris tried to remain calm.

"You call me an it sometimes," Zusane said. "You don't talk to me about anything. You assume I'll go along with whatever you say because I'm just a capital."

"Zuza, you're, like, totally not an object," Feliks said, keeping his eyes on the knife. "You're our daughter."

Zusane let out a short bark of laughter. "Well it sure as hell doesn't feel like it."

"I can't promise we won't fight anymore," Toris said. "But we'll try. Okay? We can do that, can't we, Feliks?"

Feliks nodded his head quickly. "Like, totally!"

"See? We'll do our best to not fight, and to treat you like the daughter you are," Toris said gently. "So why don't you put down the knife," he pleaded.

Zusane hesitated before putting the knife onto the counter. Immediately, she was wrapped in a tight hug by Feliks. Toris joined them a moment later.

"I'm sorry," Zusane said, over and over. "I'm sorry."

"We're sorry too."

"So very, very sorry."


End file.
